


Always that door

by Fantony



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Implied Slash, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Not A Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Stark Tower, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantony/pseuds/Fantony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door opens with a slight creak and Steve chews nervously on his lower lip, not sure whether to take a step forward. So many times he knocked on that door in the past, whenever his mind was too tormented to get to sleep. Whenever his past came to haunt him. Whenever he needed someone to talk to. It was that door he chose to knock on in the middle of the night. Always that door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Siberian wind

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not really into Marvel, but being the mother of a six and a half year old boy, I can’t really escape it! So I’ve seen a couple of Marvel movies and Civil War inspired me this fanfic (there will be only two chapters). I really like Tony’s complex personality and his relationship with Steve. I’m sorry if the descriptions seem inaccurate or if you think Steve and Tony are not in character. This is my first fanfic in this fandom and I’m not too familiar with this universe. The scene takes place in the Stark Tower, a couple of months after the events in Civil War. I know that Tony is supposed to be back at the compound, but in this fic, he’s living on his own in the Tower. 
> 
> Please, also keep in mind that I’m French, hence the English mistakes! ;-)

The door opens with a slight creak and Steve chews nervously on his lower lip, not sure whether to take a step forward. So many times he knocked on that door in the past, whenever his mind was too tormented to get to sleep. Whenever his past came to haunt him. Whenever he needed someone to talk to. It was that door he chose to knock on in the middle of the night. Always that door.

He was usually welcomed by a _“Piss off, Rogers!”_ but Steve is not one to easily give up so he kept on knocking until Tony poked his head around the door, tired eyes and tousled hair. He looked daggers at Steve, dragged his feet to the bar, helped himself to a glass of whisky and then turned to Steve, an exasperated look on his face. _“Has it ever occurred to you that I might have other fish to fry than listening to you whine all through the night?”_

Steve smiled. It took a bit more to fool him. He knew Tony’s nights were rarely peaceful. Especially after the events of New-York. The wormhole. The fall. Tony preferred not to sleep rather than having the same nightmares over and over again and he was probably relieved to have an excuse to escape them. What Steve never knew was that it was simply impossible for Tony to stay mad at him when he was smiling this way. Raising his eyebrows and unconsciously averting his eyes, his cheekbones slightly pink. Tony considered that smile as one of the most formidable weapons on Earth. It captured his heart. Took his breath away. Paralised him. Burned his whole body. And it was extremely contagious. So Tony, infected, surrendered and, rolling his eyes, he smiled back at Steve. _“So, what’s up Cap?”_ And Steve told him what was on his mind.

Steve has never been very talkative. When he was young, apart from Bucky, no one ever cared about what he thought, what he felt. No one ever asked for his opinion. He had ended up thinking he was not worthy of interest and most of the time, he just kept quiet, preferring to confide his feelings to his sketchbook. ‘Music washes away from the sould the dust of everyday life’, a German writer said. _(1)_ Steve feels exactly the same about art. Drawing helps him to release his emotions. But things were different with Tony.

Oh, God knows how much he hated him at first. Tony had seemed to be his exact opposite. Big mouth. So full of himself. Eccentric. Selfish. But in the course of time, he realised that this so-called arrogance was only a way for Tony to hide low self-esteem. They weren’t that different, in the end. Both had built themselves a fortress whose sinister walls held their most secret weaknesses but also their most laudable qualities. Before he even realised it, Steve had lowered his drawbridge and let Tony in.

When he was with Tony, Steve was not afraid to speak out. Tony listened to him, advised him, tore a strip off him sometimes, or reassured him in his very own way. The conversations usually ended with a _“Well, now you’re done moaning and I'm wide awake, how about watching a movie? You know, you missed quite a lot of masterchiefs while you were in the freezer!”_ He then chose a movie he considered as cult and they settled on the couch.

Tony commented every single scene of the movie. The film location. The charm of the leading actress. The continuity error. The special effects… The others would have threatened him to gag him, but Steve didn’t complain. It was actually his favourite part of their ‘movie nights’. He was more interested in Tony’s comments than in Jack Beauregard facing the Wild Bunch. More than in Ursula Andress stepping out of the sea. More than in Luke removing Darth Vader’s mask. _(2)_ Yes, there’s always been something fascinating, almost magnetic, about Tony. Something Steve could hardly explain.

If Tony stopped talking, that was only because he had fallen asleep. The flickering lights of the television danced across his face and Steve watched him sleep, unable to tear his gaze away. The first time Tony had ended up with his head on Steve’s shoulder as he was trying to find a comfortable position in his sleep, Steve had panicked. His whole body had tensed and his heart had started beating ridiculously fast. He had to find an excuse to stand up. Put the empty bowl of popcorns into the dishwasher. Fetch Tony a blanket. Whatever. But when he tried to stand up, Tony tugged at his sleeve, grumbling incomprehensible words and Steve had had no choice but to sit down again and watch the end of the movie until fatigue caught up to him too. On subsequent occasions, Steve had felt more comfortable. Strangely, the most difficult thing for him was to refrain from putting an arm around Tony or running a hand through his dark hair.

When the other members of the team got up in the morning, Wanda and Natasha exchanged knowing looks. Clint took a picture with his smartphone. Sam tried not to burst out laughing. Bruce looked embarrassed. Rhodey didn’t say anything but deep down in his heart, he thought that Tony hadn’t looked that peaceful for a very long time. Nobody ever dared to wake them up.

 _“By the way, I told Jarvis to grant you access to my room,”_ Tony had told him one morning. _“A simple facial recognition. That’ll prevent you from pounding on the door like a crazy person in the dead of the night. However, if I’m sleeping, I advise you not to wake me up abruptly. It puts me in a very bad mood. Oh, I don’t hold a candle to the Hulk, but believe me, you don’t want to see that.”_ Steve may be a little old-fashioned, but he would have never entered Tony’s room if he had not been explicitely invited to. So he would still knock on the door. Old style. To Tony’s great displeasure. But the simple thought that Tony trusted him enough to grant him access to his room had made him inexplicably happy. He had had a stupid grin on his face during the entire breakfast and was so distracted he had put eleven teaspoons of sugar in his tea, before Bruce’s perplexed eyes.

If the door remained closed, Steve knew where to find Tony. He walked downstairs to the workshop and could spend long minutes staring at Tony through the window. Tony was so focused on his work that he only noticed his presence when Jarvis brought it to his attention. _“How long are you gonna stand there and stare, Cap? I know I’m very pleasant to look at, but you’d get a better view from here,”_ Tony teased him, pointing at a stool next to him. Steve rolled his eyes but he was quite delighted to join him. He then enquired about Tony’s work. Not that he was particularly interested in new technologies, but he loved the way Tony’s eyes sparkled when the latter, full of enthusiasm and passion, launched into complex explanations about his newest project. _“You don’t understand a word of what I’m saying, do you?”_ Tony ended up asking. Steve tried to keep serious but he roared with laughter and Tony pretended to be annoyed. _“Of course, the whole conversation is beyond you! Sorry, I forgot that in your time, apart from hunting the mammoth and trying to start a fire with rocks, there was not much to do.”_ Steve laughed even more.

It all seems so far away now, as if the icy wind from Siberia had swept away everything on its path. The smile he had worn while recalling those moments vanishes and sorrow and melancholy fill him. He takes a deep breath and steps into the room.

The morning sunrays passing through the bay window warm his skin and make the dust particules swirling in the still air of the room shine. Time seems suspended. The bed is a mess. A shirt lies in a crumpled pile on a chair and still smells of expensive cologne. There is a drop of cold coffee left in a mug on the desk, next to the sketches of a new prototype armour. The only thing missing is Tony.

With a sigh, Steve drops into the swivel chair and rubs his face with a weary hand. Everything has seemed so unreal for four days. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept. Doesn’t remember when he last had something to eat. Nothing matters anymore.

He fixes his gaze on the pencil Tony left on the desk. He grabs it and touches it delicately, as if it were the most precious jewel in the world. Then he slowly runs his thumb along the edge of the mug. He feels a little stupid but touching things Tony has touched himself gives him the impression that their bond is not broken yet…

He then caresses the knob of the first desk drawer. He hesitates a moment but curiosity wins and pushes him into opening it. The drawer is filled with all sorts of bric-à-brac. It is bursting with electronic circuits, wires, and bizarre objects. A green feather ball pen, a yo-yo with its string all tangled up, broken sunglasses… Steve can’t help but laugh as he winds up chattery teeth and watches them bounce across the desk. He catches them just before they fall and carefully puts them back where he found them. He still hears the teeth chattering once he has closed the drawer.

When he opened the second drawer, his heart skips a beat. That drawer seems entirely dedicated to Captain America. Figures, trading cards, badges, World War II press clippings probably inherited from Howard… And this red folder on which Tony has written in capital letters ‘STEVE’.

Steve places it on the desk and stares at it for a long time before he decides to open it, not knowing what to expect. He thought all of Tony’s files were in digital format, protected by dozens of passwords. It is not without some astonishment that he discovers the letter he sent to Tony months ago. It has been torn into pieces and then taped back together. Broken. Fixed. Typically Tony.

_If you need me, I’ll be there._

Tony never called.

More than once, Steve had wanted to call Tony but he had always changed his mind. He doesn’t know what he feared most. The absence of an answer, or Tony’s voice, cold, distant, bitter. So different from the one he knew. He would have wanted to tell him once again how sorry he was. To beg his pardon. And, maybe, if he had found the courage to, to tell him that he missed their ‘movie nights’. That he missed their conversations. That he missed him, period.

He feels so incomplete without him…

_If you need me, I’ll be there._

Months have passed and Steve has realised he is the one who needs Tony, and not the other way round. After all, Tony has never knocked on his bedroom’s door…

Behind the letter is a crumpled piece of paper. A portrait Steve had made of Tony during their stay at Clint’s farm. Tony was sitting on a stump next to the pile of logs they had chopped together. Lost in his thoughts, he had not noticed Steve was sitting on the front steps, his sketchbook on his lap. Steve had thrown this drawing away, just like all the portraits he had made of Tony. None of them did him justice, he thought. There’s something in Tony that Steve has never managed to capture on paper. He has no idea how Tony laid hands on this portrait but somehow, it warms his heart that Tony didn’t get rid of it after their last face to face.

Finally, the folder holds a copy of the Accords, or more precisely, _his_ copy of the Accords. Leafing through it, Steve realises that there are annotations handwritten in practically any white space of the pages. Tony has crossed words out, added others, rephrased entire sentences… He isn’t one to give up easily either. He was trying to fix everything. Unlike what Steve thought, even if they had taken different paths, Tony had never ceased to believe in them. In _him_.

Out of the blue, a tear falls onto one of Tony’s notes, diluting the red ink. Then a second one, and many others.

* * *

 

 

_**(1) It is a quote by Berthold Auerbach, which has later been picked up by Pablo Picasso and transformed into “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”** _

_**(2) This refers to the movies My name is nobody, Dr No (James Bond) and The return of the jedi (Star Wars)** _

**Thanks for reading!** _**:-)**_

 

* * *

 


	2. Tony phone home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. The second chapter was too long so I cut it into two parts. That fic could be a bit longer than I had planned.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Steve jumps and instinctively tries to wipe his tears away with the back of his hand. Not that he is ashamed to cry. Even _E.T the extraterrestrial_ had brought tears to his eyes much to Tony’s amusement.

_“You’re not crying, are you?”_

_“What? Nooooo! Of course not,”_ Steve had protested.

Tony had leaned toward him to study his face more closely.

 _“Yes, you are!”_ He had exclaimed, one finger on Steve’s moist cheek and a triumphant smile on his lips.

_“Ah, leave me alone!”_

_“Hey, relax Cap! Nothing wrong with crying for a puppet… You know, I cried buckets of tears when Miss Piggy ditched Kermit the frog in the Muppets movie. I was about eight or nine at the time but I remember it well.”_

_“Tony…”_

_“Kermit looked so sad… It’d broken my heart, really! And I wouldn’t like to spoil you but… E.T’s not going to die, you know. There are twenty minutes left at least. Ah, look, his heart is lighting up red.”_

_“Will you just sh-“_

_“Don’t want to sound pretentious but don’t you think my reactor looks much more classy? I believe the colour blue makes all the diff-“_

_“SHUT UP!”_ Steve had yelled, stuffing a cushion over Tony’s head.

 _“That’s not fair! I didn’t do anything!”_ Tony had mumbled against the cushion, gesticulating to free himself from Steve’s hold and Steve had found it hard to keep a straight face. And when Tony had finally freed himself, all scarlet face and tousled hair, and had pretented to sulk, _“That’s the thanks I get for trying to comfort people!”_ , Steve had literally burst into laugh. That was just before a cushion whacked into his face. A memorable cushion fight had followed and E.T had long gone back to his planet when Steve had surrendered. He had laughed so much that night that his stomach had hurt.  

A few days later, as Steve was giving an interview to the New York Times, Tony’s voice had resounded in the room and Steve had bitten the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing out loud. _“Tony phone hooooome! Tony phone hooooome! Tony phooooone ho-“_ _(2)_ It had taken Steve few moments to realise the voice came from his trouser pocket.

 _“You sound tense, Cap,”_ Tony had said when Steve had picked up his phone, apologising to the young journalist. Steve could easily picture the smirk on Tony’s face. _“Don’t you like your new ringtone? I recorded it myself the other day. Thought it would be a nice way to notify you when I call.”_

A few weeks later, when Tony had noticed Steve had not deleted that ringtone yet, Steve, to justify himself, had mumbled something about new technologies’ complexity.

 _“Even a six-year-old knows how to change a ringtone, Cap!”_ Tony had mocked him. _“And they let you fly a bomber? No wonder you crashed it!”_

 _“It’s not like I had a choice!”_ Steve had immediately retorted. Tony always had knack for offending his susceptibility. _“I couldn’t –“_

 _“Land the Valkyrie without the risk of detonating its weapons and endangering the life of the citizens,”_ Tony had finished his sentence. _“So you heroically sacrificed yourself,”_ he had dramatically added before rolling his eyes. _“I know. I’ve heard the story a billion times. Is it possible you forgot who my father was?”_

That question, imbued with all the sarcasm proper to Tony, had disconcerted Steve because yes, he had ‘forgotten’ Tony was Howard Stark’s son. When had he stopped seeing nothing but Howard’s shadow in him? When had he started seeing him for who he was? Steve knew how to change a ringtone. But he’d rather have Tony thinking of him as a new technologies disabled rather than giving him the real reason.

One day, it was Tony’s turn to have his eyes shining with tears in the darkness while watching _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. “What you taught me is that I was less important to you than people who had been dead for five hundred years in another country,”_ Indiana blamed his father.

Howard Stark never took his son to a Yankees game. He never played Battleships with him. He never took him to the funfair to go on the Ferris wheel and eat cotton candy. Howard had time for his bottle of scotch but never for Tony. It was Jarvis who taught Tony how to ride a bike without training wheels. Jarvis who put Band-Aids on his skinned knees. Jarvis who heard him cry in the night and always found the right words to comfort him.

Howard didn’t keep a picture of Tony on his desk or in his wallet, but a large portrait of Captain America took pride of place on the living room’s wall, imposing ghost from the past, and Howard never ran out of praise for that hero who had disappeared twenty-five years prior to Tony’s birth and who he had been looking for inceasingly. Tony would often stare at the picture of this man and at his strange outfit with a pinch of jealousy flickering in his heart. He wanted to be tall, and strong, and brave. Just like Captain America. Then maybe his father would not have forgotten to come and see him dance in a Native American costume at the boarding school’s Thanksgiving show. For years, he had hoped to see that little spark of pride and admiration in his father’s eyes, the same one he had whenever he talked about Steve Rogers, but he had found nothing but disappointment and reproaches. Yes, Tony understood Indiana Jones’ bitterness perfectly.

His tears had clung to his long eyelashes for a while but then, too heavy, they had run silently down his cheeks. He had hastened to wipe them off with the sleeve of his sweater, casting a furtive glance at Steve, who had quickly looked away. _“Fucking weather!”_ Tony had grumbled, sniffing hard. _“Think I’m coming down with a cold.”_

Steve had gritted his teeth. He had fought that irrepressible urge to collect Tony’s tears with the tip of his finger and prevent them from falling. To throw himself at his feet and beg for his pardon. There are so many things he would have like to apologise for.

He would have liked to apologise for having been an invisible barrier between Tony and his father. He would have liked to apologise for having failed to catch Bucky’s hand. Oh God. If only… If only he had saved him… Howard… Maria… Probably none of this would have happened. And Tony… Tony… He would have liked to tell him about that fateful night of december.16 1991. It wasn’t the alcohol. It wasn’t the winter mist, nor the defective breaks. It was…

But Steve hadn’t said anything on that day. Or on any other day. He hadn’t said anything…

_Did you know?_

He still remembers the voice, the intonation, the lips. He remembers the distress he had read on Tony’s face. His whole being seemed to scream _“Please, tell me you didn’t know!”_ Oh, if only he hadn’t known anything.

_"Don’t bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?”_

Crying is not a sign of weakness. Crying is about showing your true self. Hiding nothing. Letting the others read you like an open book. Crying is being brave enough to show your vulnerability. Even heroes have the right to cry. Tony, certainly more than anyone else.

Steve has never been ashamed to cry. But today, those little salted drops seem so incongruous. So disturbing. Tony had always been there for him. And he betrayed him. He betrayed him and almost killed him with his own hands, jesus! To protect the man who murdered his parents. Tony was right. He didn’t deserve the shield. He doesn’t have the right to cry. It would be too easy.

 

* * *

 

**_Thanks for reading! :-)_ **

**_(1)_ ** **_In Steven Spielberg’s “E.T the extraterrestrial”, E.T’s heart lights up in red whenever he feels strong emotions. It refers to the movie’s most famous quote “E.T phone home”_ **

**_(2)_ ** **_It refers to the movie’s most famous quote “E.T phone home”_ **


End file.
